


Unexpected Gifts

by Awkward_Dragon



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abused Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Android Dehumanization (Detroit: Become Human), Androids, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Sexual Situations, Cock Warming, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Fluff and Smut, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Good Dog Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Hank starts as a gruff ass, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Connor/Gavin Reed, Porn With Plot, Protective Hank Anderson, Sex Toys, Sex Worker Android Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Sexual Slavery, only in chapter 2, showcasing that gavin is a dick and androids have no protections in place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:01:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22563658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awkward_Dragon/pseuds/Awkward_Dragon
Summary: Gavin Reed hasn't picked up a present for Hank this Christmas yet.  What would he get for the gruff asshole of a partner he's been assigned over the past few months.  He's about to settle on another shitty mug when their team busts a red ice ring at a plastic's sex club and Hank takes an interest one of the androids.  With the proprietor going to prison and the rest of the androids being recycled, well...An Android is better than a coffee mug, right?
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 36
Kudos: 240





	1. Raid on the Eden Club

**Author's Note:**

> I was looking through my computer when I found this document. I don't remember this fic, but apparently I wrote this a long time ago. I'm going through it piecemeal, just editing out the worst of my errors before posting, so this one will be posted to a lot more sporadically than my other fic. But regardless, I hope you enjoy!

Neon pink and blue fluorescent light cascade on a blanket of fresh snow casting odd shapes of color into the night, and the seemingly perpetually ice slick streets of Detroit. Icy wind biting cheeks red and lips raw.

There are people out there that said winter was beautiful. Those people didn’t have to be outside in it at 3am in seedy part of town busting a red ice ring in a plastic’s sex club.

Hank Anderson pulled his jacket in, cursing the fucking idiot who had decided this raid had to happen now. The evidence he’d collected was irrefutable and the shipment wouldn’t have been moved till the end of the week. They could have taken their time on this, but some bureaucrat probably thought the raid in the middle of the goddamn night looked better to the press. Representative of the hard work the DPD put into the case.

He was nowhere drunk enough to handle this, and every moment outside just further exacerbated the point.

“Oh come on Hank, don’t tell me the old man’s getting cold feet now? Sorry we had to keep you out past your bedtime.” The cheeky younger detective tries to joke.

“Eat shit, Gavin” Hank gives the junior detective his widest smile.

“Hank, all this lovely, lovely evidence isn’t just going to catalogue itself. You submitted the reports, and you were right. There was something absolutely fucked happening with this branch of the Eden Club.” The clap on the back stings a little more than a friendly tap and Hank can’t quite resist digging in.

“Alright, geez, you really need an outlet for your frustration.” Hank’s lips quirked up in a half smile, “I hear that the androids here are good at helping sort out all that.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up Hank.” Then a laugh sounding just a little bit off, sarcasm dripping froths voice.”Oh yeah, I need a plastic, ” Gavin had a sick sense of humor, but at least Hank knew he could make his partner laugh.”you’re the one in dire need of a good fuck.”

Hank rolls his eyes, a careless motion against an uncaring night. The androids at least are more cooperative than their master. When Hank tells them to line up against a wall, stay quiet and out of the way, they take one look at his badge and follow the law enforcement officer just like protocol. Their owner, on the other hand has been handcuffed to a desk and is still somehow trying to make progress out the door, remaining neither silent, nor cooperative. He keeps yelling threats, slurs, even something about a conspiracy that has Hank reeling. If the guy is desperate enough to throw this big of a net, he wonders if there is something bigger than just this bust, sizable as it is.

The team goes around clearing every room, finding other, barely legal substances and a few androids who were compromised to the point of immobility. That is, until they find the basement. The basement is actually a long set of stairs down with a double sealed door that claims it is a staff entrance. The team expects some more stock, maybe a few decent ledgers where records are actually recorded for the blooming side business. Instead the basement is filled with unlicensed android parts.

Hank lets out a low whistle of appreciation’s his team sets to work cataloging parts. He gets it now, the Red Ice would put him behind bars, minimum for this amount was 25 years, but this, unlicensed parts… Oh, Cyberlife could ruin him forever.

He almost felt bad for the guy.

Recording all the evidence in a crime scene was the worst part of the job, at least in Hank’s humble opinion. He was sure there was some pencil pusher detective who got his rocks off to this part of the job.

With all of the spare parts in the basement Hank was looking at these androids in a new light. Some of them had uneven seams where different model parts had been shoved into them. But most startling was the marks not left by the parts, most startling was the blued out bruises of the androids as their Thirium had been forced to the surface to repair damage. All of them were bruised in different patterns, from open hands, to fists, whips, and the occasional raised white scars from their owner, or perhaps just a fucked up Jon cutting on them.

“25, 26… 26, Johnson! I’ve got a discrepancy of record here. His licensing arrangement says that he’s got 27 plastics on the premises, 25 whores and two janitorial staff.”

Johnson’s comes around and reads from Hank’s tablet, trying to account for the error.  
“The two janitorial models are the Jerry and the Simon model…” He goes quiet and squints at the screen reading out the list of androids under this guy’s license. “you’re missing a whore.”

“So the guy probably destroyed it, case closed and I get to go home.” Hank waves a dismissive hand, hoping to be relieved.

“Not quite, Androids, when they get deactivated, their last signal out is to mark time and place. If this android were deactivated then it wouldn’t come up in the list. It would sync automatically and update the licensing.” Johnson explains.

“But we’ve already turned this place over cataloging evidence, there is nowhere else an android could hide. It’s not like this was a place that allowed you to take the whores home for a night.” Johnson just shrugged and went back to his own work. Hank hated that he recognized the do-your-own-work, I’ve-got-nothing-more shrug.

Hank tried the owner first, which in retrospect he should have known was a bad idea. His mad ravings were just getting worse as the night progressed and he was starting to recognize the outbursts as symptomatic of a dealer taking too much of his own stock. The only progress that was made was for this guy’s plea of insanity.

Giving up on the one person who probably knew exactly where this missing android was, he did a quick pass through the building, all the rooms and hiding places where an android might have been stuck. Running the lights in the rooms was easily one of the worst decisions of his life, as the whole room lit up blue blood and spunk in some truly impressive places. He didn’t know what he was expecting from a sex club anyway.

Eventually he gave up the fruitless quest and when back to wait in the main lobby for the other teams to finish so that he could be dismissed. It wasn’t until an officer shouted that he realized the androids were not all standing perfectly stock still.

One of the Tracy models was trying to walk over to him, but at the reprimand got back into position and held.

That was… odd.

He’d shown his badge when he had ordered them all into one place. They shouldn’t have been able to move around in the space. But the Tracy had tried to get to him, why? Had he looked so dejected that it mistook him for a client it had to ‘cheer up’. With all the extra parts in the basement Hank wouldn’t be surprised if this guy had been tampering around with inner circuitry, these androids probably weren’t regulation anymore. Some glitchy aspects to be expected.  
Still, he went over to it. It was funny, the closer it got the more it seemed to shrink back and before he could get to it, another android stepped in the way, shielding it.

“umm…” was all Hank could get out at the unusual behavior before the android speech started up.

“Hello lieutenant, is there anything that I can do for you?” It smiled sweetly, cocking its head softly to make the cropped hair sway across its forehead.

“I, ah,” he put his hand on its shoulder, synthetic skin actually pretty soft and warm for what he had been expecting, gently pushing it a few inches aside to get at the other Tracy. “That one was trying to do something?” He said kinda weakly into the air, as if he didn’t quite believe himself.

  
The Tracy he was trying to move wouldn’t budge and he was starting to get frustrated when the other leaned forward and whispered.

“The last one is still in the box.”

If Hank didn’t know any better he would have said the Tracy flinched when the other one spoke.

“What “one”, what do you mean?” He pressed

“The 27th android you are looking for. Our owner put him in The Box last night, and we haven’t seen him since.” The Traci model spoke quietly, but there was no way for him to refute the information she was telling him.

“oh,” Hank says somewhat stupidly. He should have thought to come over and talk to the androids. Of course they would know where their missing member was. “Where’s The Box?”

“outside” it looked at him gravely before dropping its gaze to the ground, LED spinning a troubled yellow.

“outside?” He echoes pointing out the back door that leads into the alley way. It’s the only lead he’s got, but he wants to be sure this android knows where he’s being sent. He hopes it isn’t sending him on a wild goose chase.

The machine just nods gravely.

The weather hasn’t improved any in the time inside the club and the snow is still coming down in fat dirty globs, wind still annoying and painful, but Hank pushes through. If he finds this android he can just call it a night there and go home. He treats himself to the indulgent thought of his warm bed and Sumo laying over his legs warming his feet.

The alleyway is pretty barren and it takes a second before he realizes that there are two dumpsters when regulation states that only one would be picked up form in this area. Hank shutters. If this is The Box, that’s just plain fucked up, putting an android in the trash can. Sure they are plastic, but they look so human he can’t see himself doing it without some remorse.

  
He kicks at the base of the dumpsters until he hears a shuffling and clang as something hits the inside walls. That’s the one. The lock snaps off easily and the lid pops up with only the barest hint of protest form the groaning, rusty metal, but even still, Hank is overtaken.

Not by the god awful smell, or the sewer sludge that is nearly ice at this point and seems to come up to this thing’s knees, but by the wide open doe brown eyes that are pleading with him to be released.

The android whimpers and shuffles slow on its knees to the edge of the metal wall that Hank stands at. Without breaking eye contact it sets its cheek down on the metal and keens loudly, begging to be let out.

It is gaged Hank realizes, the vocal processor is being inhibited by the black ball gag that is fastened too tight over its face. Its limbs are duck taped together and sections of the facial and abdominal plating are cracked leaving the white plastic exposed. The whole interior of the dumpster is tinged this muddy purple and Hank realizes with a start that it’s covered in dirty, icy, Thirium and the only light in The Box is the ruby red LED spinning madly.

Hank curses loudly, to which the android snaps back and tries to pull in on itself, protecting the more vital components, and Hank almost feels bad. But there are other issues to focus on at the moment. Red is bad. This android could self destruct at any moment and he needs all 27 androids to expose a “full” report of their collective memory drive evidence.

He reaches inside the dumpster and pulls this android up by the scruff of the tattered remains of a shirt.

The android jerks in the unsteady hold but once it is out and dropped to the ground Hank lets go and there is less of an issue. A tremble goes through the androids body and Hank doesn’t quite know what to do with that. Sure the think is in half a shirt and some short boy-shorts but aren’t androids supposed to not feel the cold.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.”

The android looks alarmed at that, probably because he doesn’t recognize Hank as a member of the staff or someone who can give him orders, but he follows regardless. Slowly and haltingly as if moving takes up an extreme effort, but he follows Hank to the door and steps inside at Hank’s prompting.

Inside, with the light Hank can see the android a lot better. Cute features and tousled mop of hair that’s probably a crowd favorite, and a spattering of tiny freckles across this things “skin” that makes Hank sure a Dev put far too much time into this model.

Hank pulls out his pocket knife and does his best to split the duck tape in an even line without cutting into the thing’s arm.

By the time he’s pulled off the last of the tape he realizes that the deep blue Thirium bruises are extensive on this creature, and the red LED hasn’t stopped. Hank really doesn’t know what to do as the android goes to its knees, puts its arms around itself, and starts shivering.

_I am not drunk enough to deal with this._

At the very least he can take out the gag, that might help the situation.

He settles in front of it and is about to unfasten the buckle when the thing flinches. Just… full out flinches away from his hands. Before he can consider the movement just a figment of his imagination he catches the androids eyes. He can see fear there, he can almost feel it, palpable in the air. This thing, this machine, is scared.

“Hey, hey now…” Hank switches to the tone he uses to console families, the warm and comforting tone they don’t tell you you need to master before the end of training.

“You got locked in that box, right? It’s ok. I am detective lieutenant Hank Anderson, me and my team were rounding up all the evidence and we noticed one little android was missing. We’ve got you now.”

It blinks up at him, fear unassuaged, although a little calmer maybe from having the man in front of him identified. The blinking is at a better state of orange now. It still looks fucking terrified.

“I’m gonna take out that gag, ok?”

“Jesus Anderson, what the fuck are you talking like that to a fucking piece of plastic. You know when you don’t have to talk soft, order it and it’ll listen. You don’t have to play nice to get it to sleep with you. It’s already programed as a whore.”

“Reed, this is a fucking crime scene, go do your fucking job.”

“touchy, touchy… though I do see, it is pretty cute.”

“Gavin!”

Gavin’s hands go up in a mock surrender and he shuffles off, though Hank doubts he will do any real work. Turning back to the android he can see the attempt to get the thing to calm down have all been for naught. The things LED is back to red and It’s looking at the floor instead of him.

At any rate, it exposes a part of the buckle so Hank goes for that instead.

When his hands brush the buckle the thing bucks up, but this time Hank’s ready for it and he holds steady to the buckle. Undoing the complex knots and clips while trying to hold down this android’s head is not how he though he would be spending his evening.

Finally the buckle yields to his insistence and the tight straps around the android’s head go slack. Hank pulls the android’s head up and pulls the damn piece of hard plastic out of its mouth. The android is frozen as if taking a moment to process the loss of the shape in its mouth. Its jaw remains slack regardless, and Hank can practically hear the ligament mechanics groaning as it tries to close its mouth after being suspended for so long.

It is still shaking and at this point Hank isn’t quite sure if androids really are heat and cold resistant like the advertisements say.

“You cold?” He asks, unable to keep the curiosity to himself

“A-Androids do not feel the cold.” The speech is slow and each word drags out of him tinged by the mechanics of the voice synthesizer not running optimally. “The cold, the … Outside, the cold has damaged some biocomponents, that is all. I am operating at a less than optimal temperature. I need to raise my internal temperature. “ He looks then us at the group of androids gathered at the main entrance and Hank can see this thing’s fingers twitch. It wants to go over to them. It probably wants to be comforted by something that understands what is happening.

“Please lieutenant, all I need is a few moments for my internal temperatures to raise passed It retrains its gaze on Hank, it really must not be working optimally if it thinks it is being subtle.  
acceptable, then I will be able to give you anything you so desire.”

Hank really doesn’t want to listen to this android, who looks like he may be a few years past 20, talk about what he’s gonna give Hank after he’s warmed up enough to process correctly. He cuts the thing off there, that sick feeling in his stomach growing at the thought that this was a fairly standard punishment.

“Alright, alright, shut up”

“lieutenant, I just want you to know that I am very grateful for my release and would like to help you in any way that you find yourself—“

“Jesus, now I know why he had you gagged.”The thing flinches back and Hank curses himself for the blunt words. He has to watch himself, this is obviously not like other androids at scenes. This one is not dismissible, this one seems downright traumatized.

“w-what?” It stammers out in a hushed, hurt tone. Big doe eyes looking up at Hank, god Hank could get lost in those eyes, anyone could. This android was designed really well.

“you just don’t shut up.” The buttons on his outer layer finally come undone and he slides it off of his shoulders draping the coat over the android. It looks ridiculously big on this android, puffing the thing up with all the fluff and down inside the coat.

“Y-you, don’t have to do this lieutenant.” It states simply. Words short and clipped now that Hank has commented on its rambling tendencies.

“Yes, but it is a nice gesture I think. And it will help you regain a healthy core temperature faster, will it not?”

“Yes, lieutenant.” It burrows into the soft coat and it tickles Hank silly that there is an android fucking cuddling up in the corner of a sex club in his coat. This is not how this was supposed to go tonight.

He is nowhere near drunk enough to deal with this.


	2. To Wrap Up a Plastic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor gets gift wrapped!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder to look at the tags there is some squicky stuff in this chapter and mentions of sex, sex toys, uncomfortable positions and past/current sexual assault.  
> That being said, you guys are best at policing what you read. You know what you are comfortable with, so...
> 
> (there is some Gavin/Connor in this chapter- but it exists nowhere else)
> 
> Without further ado, the chapter-

Connor is scared. He knows he shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be able to feel anything, but it doesn’t stop the mind numbing terror of the sensations. He’s been allowed back with the other androids in the process of “being hauled” back to the station. They load the androids up into a box truck and drive them down. It is uncomfortably close to the dark, claustrophobic space of The Box, but at least this time he is not alone.

Connor’s body shivers involuntarily, but Connor knows that’s a good sign. Before, his temperature regulation systems were not functional, too critically low to run. The shivering works much the way it does for humans, creating warmth by expending energy. Which wouldn’t be too bad. If he wasn’t at an alarmingly low twelve percent. Much of the energy was expended making sure he hadn’t shut down the previous day when the Owner had not come back to remove him from the dark and icy prison.

Sure, he didn't actually shut down last night, but it was a near thing. He had never stayed in The Box for more than overnight. Their owner liked to show just how thoroughly he owned them, but that didn't mean that they were meant to be permanently damaged in the process. He still needed them to make his money.

The coat had helped. Connor's hands clutch his bare arms and he wishes he had kept it.

The Lieutenant had been so kind. He had spoken softly when his audio processors were hazing over and giving incomplete data. 

Connor could not have let himself keep hold of the coat and make the human step outside without protection.

The Tracys looked at him strangely as they were being loaded onto the truck. He hadn't given it much thought at the time, but when the hatch had been closed and they had been plunged into the darkness they had found their way to him. They told him the state of his "skin". The white patches that the owner had left, unsealing. 

Connor thanked them for their efforts. The information that he was in a sub-optimal state was news to no one, but the physical markers flew under his radar at the moment. He was still trying to process all the data from the beating he had taken from the Owner.

The models smiled and told him that they had been worried when he was not retrieved after the first night. They had been worried they weren't going to see him again.

He knew those models. They had... a fascination with each other that shouldn't be possible. Then again he should not be in fear of his critical battery and imminent shutdown and yet here he was, crouched on the floor of the moving van trying desperately not to think. 

The movements of the van lulled him. The worst of the thoughts knocked from his head when the bumpy ride took a rough turn.

The journey stopped eventually, as all journeys must and the Thirium in his pump went cold. They were at the station, they would need to provide memory information into a doc. But most importantly, he would need to be presentable. He would be viewed by a great many people, so many eyes, so many judgements being made in a single moment. There was no helping his skin at this point, but so many other things were wrong, the aesthetic choices were low on the list of priorities at his point.

The programming he had been running on was typical law enforcement assistance. He wasn't to question any of their orders, provide full and complete answers, and help in any way necessary.

He worries very briefly about the gruff lieutenant. As kind as he had been trying to help restore his internal temperature gradients back to normal, he had said that Connor needed the gag. Connor was just trying to give the answers that would keep him out of trouble, as much information as possible. The lieutenant didn’t see it that way, he understood why the Owner had him gagged.

There are few things in this world that Connor hates more than the gag. With all the time he had been wearing it he can still feel the uncomfortable pressure on his jaw, the way he had been unable to move much of his body, the way he had started to freeze up out there in the box. With the Owner arrested, no-one would have found him. Though perhaps the garbage truck would have eventually gotten to him.

The shaking gets worse and Connor quickly stands and presses his palms into his sides, aligning his body as stiffly as he can. He needs to be presentable.

The station passes in a blur of light and noise as they are filed in as a large group and the individual data transfers start. At the very least, it is deliciously warm. Connor smiles as he watches his core temperature rise out of the red and into the warning orange. It will take several more hours before it goes up to green, safe territory but they will have been removed from the station before that happens.

Most likely recycled, wiped and reprogrammed. Sold again, to new owners, perhaps another establishment. There are worse fates Connor reminds himself. There are always worse things…

A hand grabs out at him after the data transfer is complete and something stutters in his coding. There is a blank haze of terror before his optic system comes back online and he recognizes the person who has stopped him.

“D-detective Reed, I am sorry, I—“

“Yeah, shut up, plastic.” Connor obediently shuts his mouth. He tries to smile at him, tilt his head at the angle that his regulars find cute and draw attention to his big round eyes with a flutter of his lashes. The program is running without his conscious thought. If he looks cute enough, people don’t want to hurt him as much. Though it does sometimes encourage more attention than he likes. He’d gotten the nickname “puppy” this way.

The detective’s eyes light up, but not with the familiar arousal that Connor is used to. There’s anger there, and before he can process the movement, Connor’s doubled over from the punch to the gut. A hand tightens in his hair, and before he knows it, he’s being pulled, dragged through the station with this detective. He’s being led away from the other androids. His whimpering only receives harsher tugs, so the noises cut off after a while.

He’s thrown down at a desk, there are almost no other officers in the room and Connor can’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach. There are no witnesses, and this time his owner won’t step in if the client goes too far. 

“Detective Reed, I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but we are getting recycled tonight. I wouldn’t want to miss the Cyberlife factory truck—” He tries to push down the panic and deliver a reasonable excuse, but the detective cuts him off.

“Shut up! You aren’t going with the others, you get to stay here.” Reed answers harshly, not even sparing Connor a glance as he goes to type something out on the computer.

Connor’s core goes cold. Has he been privately purchased, or is he meant to be communal property of the police station? 

“Just be glad this case fell on us right before Christmas. I think you’re a better joke gift than another stupid mug.” Reed continues almost absent mindedly.

“What about the…” Connor can’t stop himself from trying to protest, even with the thinly veiled fear peaking through in his tone.

“Your group’s being recycled anyway so the company was thrilled someone wanted their plastic, that they wouldn’t have to actually process you. The private sale was actually around the same as the mug. Apparently, you plastics devalue quick.”

Connor’s not surprised. Well, maybe he is surprised that Cyberlife charged the Detective at all for broken merchandise. Connor studiously ignores the painful sensation that crops up in his chest at the thoughts of his own worthlessness and tries instead to try to compile all the data he has.

First, he has been privately purchased.

Second, going off of what the detective said, he’s going to be a joke gift.

It’s unlikely that he will be communal property in that case and he can’t help but feel relieved. Being shared has never gone well for him in the past. With so many people with so many different expectations, it’s inevitable that someone’s going to be disappointed. That never ends well…

Third and most troubling, his new owner doesn’t know he’s going to be receiving an android.

There’s a nervous thrum in Connor’s body and the urge to fidget gets stronger by the second. The minutes tick by and the sensation grows. He has to put physical effort into not moving, he doesn’t want to offend the already angry detective. People do crazy things when they’re annoyed and if there is one thing that Conner knows he can be, it’s annoying.

The office is quiet and slowly officers sign out for the night and wave goodbye. It’s quieter and Connor is sure this is what going mad feels like.

There’s an overwhelming urge to speak, to do something. He wishes he had something he could do with his hands, move his leg, breathe without feeling like he’ll be reprimanded for doing it too loudly. There are so many questions Connor needs answered, but the air around his temporary keeper is still so thick with anger that he doesn’t even have to calculate the percentage chance of success. It’s negligible.

Instead Connor busies himself watching his already pitiful power supply dwindle, trying to decide at which point he needs to bring it up with the detective. 

At first it’s ten percent. It’s a hard limit that Connor has fixed in his mind. Ten percent looks a dangerously low power level in the rear view mirror. This is an emergency. But, there are so many other officers still milling about… Surely it will just be a few minutes more before Detective Reed checks out and leaves him plugged in for the night. But that number comes and goes with no sign of the detective packing up to leave, no indication that he notices the solid red of Connor’s LED.

Then it’s eight percent. That would be another half hour at least. Certainly enough time for Detective Reed to notice Connor’s precarious situation and discover what’s wrong. Officers check out, turn the lights on their desk out, but nothing changes at Detective Reed’s desk. Connor’s trying to make his trembling less obtrusive, but his temperature regulators are shot. A quick glance at detective Reed reveals that the man’s not even working, he’s finished his papers an hour ago, and even with the crappy bandwidth, managed to deliver them to his superiors. He’s playing solitaire, it’s like he’s waiting for something… or someone.

At six percent, Connor decides that he cannot wait as long as Detective Reed can for whatever he needs. He’s as close as he’s ever gotten to a forced shutdown, and as close as he ever wants to be.

“D-Detective Reed—”

“What?” The man cuts him off, tone still frustrated if not quite angry anymore. It makes Conner pause, reconsider if he can take the next hour in silence before he really needs to charge. He pushes forward, desperation driving him.

“I’m in dire need of connection to a power source.”he speaks as factually as he can, trying not to let fear enter into his tone.

“You want me to plug you in?” Reed smiles at him, but he looks down at Connor like he’s a soiled spot on a carpet.

It sounds like a threat and as much as Connor needs to be plugged in, there’s a shiver that goes through his form as he futilely tries to consider any other option.

“Y-yes.” His voice trembles and he hates it. Hates the predatory glint in the detective’s eyes, the smug look that crosses over his face.

“And what are you going to do for me?” The detective’s voice is soft, but there’s an underlying promise of danger and Conner is certain that no matter what he does, no matter how perfectly he does it, the detective is still going to find fault with him.

These are the worst Masters. The ones who can’t decide what they themselves whan and take it out on the ones that are simply trying to appease them. Thankfully his options are a bit limited. They are in the middle of a police department, even if the last remaining officials are clearing out of the building it still means that the more exotic things are out of the question. Connor certainly wouldn’t have the strength or the energy to clean the area if those kinds of services were required, that is if he were able to remain conscious for the whole thing...

Connor has to shake his head out of the memories, his skin crawls with the lingering phantom touches ghosting over his body. The unwanted bruises and scars. The memories of having to please no matter what condition he was in, no matter what condition he was left in.

Connor’s familiar with this game.

He doesn’t have to like it to play it well.

“Well surely there is something that I can do for you” Connor tilts his head to the angle that best shows off his long lashes, tilts his body so that he’s leaned over onto one hip, making the exposed curve of his body just a little more visible. 

The program runs nearly without his prompting, immediately assessing the detective’s receptiveness. Does he like the playful act? Connor took a risk deviating from the standard protocol. Some of his regulars said that they like his programing better than the others specifically because he could work around the standard programing, he could make it seem a little more real… just a little more human.

They didn’t know that it wasn’t a new software update, and they didn’t need to know. This was his trump card. Half the johns that came in for him were half drunk or high, they gave their orders and all he had to do was follow, but the ones that didn’t know what they wanted… They were always a struggle. Some liked his more human style of seduction, others hated it. 

Reed didn’t seem to entirely register the difference -something hard in his eyes, not arousal, but then again he hasn’t gotten the idea that Reed likes him, even in just an aesthetic sense. Some people just want to use things...

“How about you get over here and show me the proper use for your mouth, huh? Then maybe I’ll plug you in.” The crooked sneer on his face makes Connor’s insides feel dirty, but that’s nothing new. He’s been dirty before, so many times before that he doubts he will ever truly be able to get clean.

“How do you want me.” he hopes it sounds more aroused and breathless rather than the flat and toneless that he feels it sounds like. Reed doesn’t seem to notice or care either way… Conner knows how to count his blessings.

“Come on, crawl under my desk, show me how much you want it.” There’s a sneer in his voice that despite his experience, Connor’s not certain he’ll ever get used to hearing.

Luckily orders are orders. He lets himself settle on all fours and allows himself to take slower steps swaying his hips in a way his regulars always told him was enticing. He settles under the desk, glad for the small mercy of not being directly visible by any of the other agents still in the office, and reaches for the man’s zipper.

“Leave your hands out of this.” Reed gives the chastisement gently, and Connor, like the fool he’s always been, risks the look up.

There’s none of the false concern in his eyes. They’re lit up in amusement as Connor shifts awkwardly from knee to knee, ducking his head so it doesn’t brush the underside of the desk. 

Connor knows he’s not the best at the whole seduction and appeal game. Despite it being his literal purpose. Ever since he’d started having opinions on things it was harder to let those programs run. The unpleasant hot feeling that rises in his stomach he recognizes all too well : shame.

Connor tries to salvage what little of this interaction he can with compliance. He still needs to be plugged in, and no one does a favor for free. He smiles and sucks his lower lip into his mouth, lowering his head . Supposedly it’s a gesture of demure submission, it usually lets him get away with a few fumbles. Connor lets his breath ghost over the detective’s crotch before he pulls zipper down with teeth. The fabric of the pants scapes on his cheek and he tries to focus on that sensation more than the visual data of Reed’s exposes dick.

He’s not supposed to feel things.  _ He’s a machine.  _

Connor lets himself run on autopilot, running the program that he’s more than familiar with in the distance as he allows his mind to wander. He doesn’t know why it disturbs him so much. It’s his purpose, it’s why he was built. 

He wonders what happened to the Traci’s. They made sense, their...deviation had been borne out of love, but Connor never really understood why he deviated. He could never make sense of it. He didn’t have someone else like the Traci’s did, even though they insisted that he did indeed have them. They prattled on about the defects in his coding like it meant he was part of a family, but even with their insistence he’d felt distant from them.

A hand grasps the back of his head, slamming him down until he’s taken the detective’s cock down to the root. Connor sputters for a moment, his hands reflexively trying to find a place on the detective’s hips where he can pull himself away, but the hand pressing him down doesn’t let up. He recognizes the unspoken order for what it is. He takes his time regaining shorter faster strokes that allow him to take more of the detective’s length down his throat.

“You’re good plastic, even come programmed with a gag reflex, huh?” Gavin groans, seemingly liking the change of pace.

Connor hums and lets the relief wash over him as the detective seems to enjoy the reverberation and for the most part seems to be less inclined to keep up a conversation. Connor doesn’t have to keep it up much longer, and sooner than he would have thought Conner’s swallowing dutifully.

“Well look at that, you’re actually good at something.” He somehow manages to sound angry and wound up despite having just orgasmed.

“...Sir-” Connor tries to start, nervously trying to find a way to remind the detective of his promise. He’d expected the man to be a little more loose limbed and relaxed in his post-orgasm bliss, not still hostile towards him.

“There’s an outlet under my desk. Have at it.” Reed gestures flippantly.

“Thank you, sir” Connor immediately finds the outlet and plugs himself in, a wave of relief coming over him as his charge stops it’s disastrous decline.

“Might as well put you to use while you’re under there. Why don’t you keep me warm?” Though it is a question there is very little negotiation in the detective’s voice, and Connor sees no way to argue the point.

“Y-yes sir,” he concedes easily. He even manages to smile like any good android that’s been given an order.

Reed’s dick, still wet with the synthetic lubricant his mouth produces, goes easily back into his mouth, and though the back of his throat still feels raw Conner knows better than to say so.

Connor lets his processor cycle in the background shutting into a power saver mode. It’s odd to feel so absent form his body while still having to think about swallowing around another man’s dick, but ever since he started feeling things he’s become accustomed to weird sensations. Conner has no idea how long they stay like that, with Reed just tapping away on his computer while he waits underneath.

As Conner lets his mind wander there’s the faintest frustration brewing in the back of his mind that he can’t watch the officers wander back and forth. He can’t see who’s still in the station and he has no idea why the detective is waiting.

Each time the thought grows Connor has to take the time to manually walk himself back from the emotion, divorcing it from his mind and trying to regain the semblance of mindless robotic obedience. It’s getting to be more and more of an uphill battle. It’s getting to the point that he’s a little concerned for the time when he won’t be able to pull himself out of the desires to behave badly. 

It happened from time to time with the Traci’s. They’d get in trouble with their owner and the man had to explain to the guests that the responses were just glitches from their repair. There would be no one to advocate for him if he suddenly started acting out. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’d be saved from getting decommissioned then.

“Lawrence, finally”

A light slap to the face breaks Connor out of his thoughts and notifies him that it’s ok to release his position. Slowly the rest of Connor’s processors come online and he registers the line of drool that has gone down the side of his face. He registers the sound of Reed’s dick obscenely loud to his processors at the spit slick organ pulls out of him. More than anything Connor recognizes that there is another person here, standing close enough to have watched all of this. He can hear his Thiruim processor pounding loudly in his ears as he wrestles to come to terms with that. 

_ You are a machine. It shouldn’t matter. It’s your purpose. It’s what you were built for. _ He tries to rationalize the shame away, but in the end the only thing he can do is listen to what this newcomer is saying to his current owner.

“Look, I got you your stuff, no need to bite my head off. How about you show me what I’m working with.” This ‘Lawrence’, Connor assumes, speaks not hiding his annoyance and displeasure at the whole situation.

“Right here,” Reed pulls Connor out by what remains of his shirt exposing him to the new person before he has the chance to even wipe his face.

His processor works overtime. The man falls within a similar age bracket to detective Reed, though he does seem to comfortably sit in a slightly lower income bracket given the state of his worn jacket and the lack of upkeep he seems to find acceptable with his personal items and the way he holds himself. He’s got some bruising on his knuckle and seems to be favoring his right side. A bar fight maybe? Within the last two days if it was. And he seems to be holding a rather intimidating looking box. 

“Oh he’s a cute little thing, especially with his face all wrecked like that. You sure you want to waste him on Hank. The guy’s not going to appreciate it. I’d be surprised if he doesn’t break the thing in a week.” Lawrence huffs as he takes a good long look at Connor.

Connor for the most part wishes that he could wipe his face without one of the men calling him on it. It’s a bad sensation, and he doesn’t like all the extra attention it’s gaining him. But he hasn’t been asked and it wouldn’t do him any good to express a preference.

“Look, he doesn’t have to last, I doubt Hank will even accept the ting, I just want to see the look on his face.” Reed laughs taking the box and motioning for Conner to sit down on his cleared desk.

“Alright, dude.” Lawrence responds and starts helping his friend go through the contents of the box.

The first thing Lawrence pulls out is a gag with a suspiciously phallic shape. Apparently they both like the look of his face ‘wrecked’ and agree that it’s something his new owner should get the chance to experience immediately. Connor just mourns silently for the irritated sensors at the back of his throat as the gag slips into place.

They spend a long time playing dress up. Gavin and his friends strip Connor of the tight shorts and tattered remains of a shirt in favor of all different manner clothes, from lacey to leather Connor models all their choices out, hoping that the blue tint to his cheeks gets overlooked. Lawrence provides a flared base butt plug that’s done up in red and white stripes.  _ Tis the season, _ some part of Connor’s processor must be overloading as the thought comes unbidden to his mind as the officers bend him over the desk.

They eventually pick a set of tight red shorts with the design of a wide black belt going around it and a Santa hat. And Reed, comedic genius that he and Lawrence seem to think they are, decides to scotch tape a single candy cane to his torso for good measure. They tie him up in one big red bow and Connor lets himself bask in the momentary relief of the whole endeavor being over.

But then Lawrence saunter’s up with a new software drive update for an ‘arousal program’. It had been a while since his owner had splurged on a software update. Most of the time it was disorienting, so much data getting immediately dumped into his system without any way to process it other than simply letting his system take the time to integrate the new data. 

So Conner is understandably not exactly excited for the hours long headache of sorting through data after the update, but what he wasn’t prepared for was the auto start up.

Immediately there’s an unfamiliar tickle in his groin and the pressing weight of the butt plug becomes a much more pleasurable sensation. His LED circles pink, as his hips shift in minute motions to try to understand if not chase the new sensation. He mumbles some incoherent noises through the gag, trying to get the two men’s attention as he feels his cock harden in the thin shorts.

With the uncomfortable sensation in his lower belly, the sensitivity increased, and his whole body trembling, he doesn't know what to do. The two men seem to find the behavior amusing as Lawrence openly laughs at the display and Reed encourages him to better act the part of ‘a needy little slut’ if he wants them to help him out.

Connor has no idea what to do. The program runs on top of everything else and it makes thinking a futile effort. The whole world is unprocessable data and Conner’s at the mercy of the stimulation inside. It’s a distraction that he can’t ignore.

He realizes with dawning horror that he can’t dismiss the program manually. When he tries he’s simply informed that the program needs to run its course or be dismissed. He’s hushed when he tries to bring this point up with the two men, unable to speak his plight and unable to do anything about it.

He’s tied up in a little bow and there’s nothing he can do.

The two men bring out a comically oversized box and set it out at one of the desks in the corner, loading him in before the top goes on and the only light source in Connor’s LED.

The pink cycling light is at least enough to keep the memories of the box the other night at bay, though he does immediately start to feel claustrophobic. 

_ It’s not the box. It’s not the box _ . He says it over and over to himself like a mantra until it starts to really feel true. It’s not cold in here that’s just the memory. He’s inside, inside the police station and that’s much better than being in a dumpster in a back alley. He’s charged a little bit, 46 percent is a hell of a lot better than 12. Though it does take him a good hour or so he realizes that he’s unable to go into a power saving mode because of the running program.

_ Everything’s going to be fine. _ He’s getting gifted to someone tomorrow. Someone who doesn’t know they will be receiving an android. Someone who could just as easily turn around and take him to a junkyard to be scrapped.

The dark and the walls are now fighting him and he tries his best to push all the thoughts he can away. He tries to calm down and wait out the moments of panic. He can’t get out of here so he might as well stay calm until his new owner rips him open on Christmas morning.

He twists, trying to find a better position but all it does is jostle the plug and remind Connor about the program still running.

Connor finds himself wondering who his new owner might be. It takes a moment before it registers that without the distraction of the program he might have had the presence of mind to look for the nameplate on the officer's desk before getting placed in the box.

The only thing he can do now is twist to chase those new and sensations. Maybe if he can force the program into completion then he can at least go into power saving mode. It’s a long shot, but it is the only thing that he can actually do to help himself get through this situation.

He has to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up: The Detroit Police Department Christmas Party (Hank gets a gift that he was not expecting)


	3. Unboxing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank gets his Christmas present. There seems to be an odd program running, but that can't be too much trouble...right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I am overwhelmed with the amount of positive reception this has gotten. Thank you so much, you make it an absolute honor to write for you!

Connor presses his forehead against the inside of the box, turning slightly and trying to ignore the toy in his ass. The program that’s running is making it impossible to ignore, there’s a tingling sensation dancing down his spine in a way he’s not used to. Every movement makes the sensation words and better at the same time, prolonging the torture of the sitmulation and leaving him no more satisfied than how he’d started.

The whole program is odd, doing strange things to his sensory receptors. It’s impossible to focus on anything but the stimulation. Each breath becomes increasingly labored even though he is sure that he’s taking in more than enough oxygen for his functionality. Then again the gag is making it rather difficult to take full breaths and breathing solely through his nose makes him dizzy quite quickly. Connor can feel the beat of his Thirium pump in his ears, the noise echoing almost absurdly within the confines of his little box.

Dizziness and panic overtake him for a second and he realizes that he’s been forcing himself to breath through his nose for too long. Not that switching how he’s getting his air is doing him much good at the moment. The gag is making him drool too much to properly suck air in through his mouth. 

He wonders just how long it will take before he is given over to his new owner. He can’t drown, not in the typical way, but his lungs had been punctured by an… overeager client once before. They’d had to take him to a technician to have his lungs drained and repaired, but the time between that... only able to choke on the liquid that had filled his lungs, the pain and panic of drowning, had not left him.

The gag mimicked that too well, being forced to swallow down liquid in the same movement that he tried to breathe. If he wasn’t careful some of the oral lubricant would slide down into his lungs. He was valuable before, a best seller. His owner had reason to keep him in working order. But as a gift, a prank that was not meant to be well received? Would he be allowed to return to a technician, or would he be thrown out with the rest of tomorrow’s garbage?

It would all be much easier to think about without the infernal plug stuck up his ass and the program running to make it read as pleasurable. The unwanted heat of pleasure slowly sinking into his stomach made him want to cry. The program, the damned program wouldn’t let him take his mind off of it. The way he was curled up in the box made his shoulders ache, the odd stretch of his ribs escalated the pain to the point where it mingled with the pleasure from the toy, making his processor confused.

Moving only aggravated the problem as the shifting only pushed the toy into a new position where Connor felt an odd spark of pleasure. It took Connor a second to realize the low noise he’d begun to hear was coming from him. He trembled, trying to stay quiet in the box, but he couldn’t stop the way his body canted, in an effort to recreate that glorious pleasurable burst. 

The next noise that came from him was a noise of frustration. It wasn’t enough. He didn’t have enough room to maneuver, he didn’t have enough stimulation to bring himself over the edge. 

Even still, he had to try.

- - - - -

Christmas parties are bullshit.

That’s the one clear thought going through Lieutenant Anderson’s head as he watched all his coworkers mingle and laugh with each other like they actually liked the shitty coffee the office had provided and the red and green ‘festive’ donuts. 

At least the secret santas were going off without a hitch. It was the first year the department had ever made it an official thing. Most people just got some shitty trinkets for their colleague, but Hank had to admit there was more order to the chaos when everyone was assigned a person. He got Jenneane a collection of those records she wouldn’t shut up about and a gift card to that pretentious coffee shop she liked. She’d actually seemed appreciative which was nice, but now there was nothing left for him to do but slouch against a far wall and try not to glare into his coffee cup.

“Anderson you little shit, how are you doing?” Reed called out, startling Hank out of his musings.

“Worse now that I’m looking at your mug, Reed.” He smirked, setting into the corner he’d picked out for himself. “What do you want?”

“That’s no way to talk to your secret santa,” the young detective shot back.

_ Oh shit _ . Hank had been wondering what unlucky schmuck had pulled his name out of the hat. He hadn’t been approached by anyone when the party had started, but plenty in the office had waited for a good moment to introduce their surprises.

“Come on, I got you something I know you will just  _ love _ !” Reed smiles wide and Hank’s stomach turns. When that fucker smiles, nothing good ever happens.

“Reed?” He prods, suddenly very reluctant to follow the younger detective. 

“Come on, it’s back at your desk in the office.” He calls, continuing on, not waiting to see if Hank comes with him.

Hank suppresses a sigh. The man’s always been too brash, too quick to anger and action. But there’s nothing that Hank can do to stop that, short of knocking him out. He’ll learn. You don’t stay in the force too long with that attitude before it bites you in the ass. 

The party is kept mostly in the front reception area of the department, and nothing about it is too compelling. It doesn’t take much for Hank to follow. The lights are off in the back room, but it’s impossible to miss Reed where he’s standing next to Hank’s desk damn near vibrating where he stands like a child on Christmas morning. The big box next to his desk catches him off guard.

“Jesus, Reed, the hell is this?” Hank approaches the christmas colored box like it’s a bomb, and apparently Reed doesn’t like that.

“Just open it!” He huffs in exasperation, rolling his eyes like Hank is being the most unreasonable person in the world.

Hank just lets his signature glare slide over his features as he moves forward and pops the top off the box. Initially hoping to wipe that smug grin off Reed’s face, but he can’t help the look of shock that comes over his face as all thoughts of Reed’s dumbassery leave his mind.

_ The android from the raid. _

He’d wondered what happened to the android that’d been stuck in the dumpster. Somehow, he’d never expected to find him at the bottom of a box again. He looks odd bundled up in a ribbon, spit down his chin from the gag in his mouth. Hank’s trying really hard not to look at the way he’s absently trying to grind backwards with a vacant look in his eyes. Trying to ignore the sudden tightness in his pants in seeing the slender planes of his body shift as he writhes against the ribbon. The glazed look that’s come over his face making him look more like an expensive toy than the scared person he’d been emulating when Hank met him. It’s so different from the bright intelligence that he’d seen behind those eyes. It makes Hank wonder if he’d imagined it.

“Reed, what the fuck,” It comes out a lot louder than Hank had intended.

“Well I got you something to take care of all that pent up stress.'' The wolfish grin that spreads across his features makes Hank reconsider his plan to not punch his lights out.

“Fuck, Reed.. I don’t know what to do with this-” Hank hisses through clenched teeth before Reed cuts him off.

“Well, it’s not rocket science, all you really have to do is fuck it.” He says with that same shit eating grin than makes Hank more and more sure that punching him is the correct course of action.

“Real funny, Reed…” he mutters, unable to resist looking down at the android again.

It’s nothing like the alert, jump little thing he’d found last night, the thing still hasn’t realized that there are people staring at it! He can’t help but wonder what happened to it. 

“Oh come on, Hank. Don’t be such a spoil sport,” Reed reaches his hand into the box and forces the android up by the hair. The dazed, faraway look stays until Reed delivers a quick slap to the side of his face that makes him acknowledge the two humans in the room. “He’s halfway fucked out of his mind already.”

It’s not true. Forcing the android into acknowledging the world around him seems to have summoned the light back into his eyes. If nothing else, he certainly recognises Hank. The android doesn’t fight the hold he’s in, but he does strain a bit from Reed’s hand tangled in his hair as his eyes widen. There’s a soft blue that brushes across his face and it takes Hank a second before he realizes that Thirium’s blue.  _ Never seen an android blush before… _

“Let me get him packed away in your car…” Reed offers and Hank is so distracted that he agrees, if only to get the hell out.

He spends the least amount of time mandatory at this stupid christmas party, waving his goodbye and picking up his coat before he jumps into car doing his best to ignore the box in the back.

This android is odd. Hank knows that even just considering the night before. He acts more human than machine, especially after coming out of that box. The signs were plain to see, exhaustion, trauma, fear… it’s all what Hank would expect of a victim. 

_ A human victim _ , he has to remind himself. The android isn’t human and whatever emotions he was reading off the thing were projected. His own fault for trying to read so closely into the android’s behaviors. At least that’s what the website had been saying when he went snooping around on google after he got home.

_ Androids don’t have emotions, but they have tendencies to try and express themselves in ways that please their owners. Whether that’s trying to emote or deactivating the emotional response settings entirely.  _ At least that was what the forum said. He doesn’t get why the thing’s acting so strange now.

Hank pulls up to his house, the little shitbox would look nice with all the snow piled on its roof if not for the grey sludge that’s built up around the sidewalks. That and the fact that he’s the one dark house on the block. He’s happy with his life, buried in his job to the point that he has little time to think about anything else, but damn if the holidays don’t show it off to the whole world.

It’s not too hard to lift the box, Christmas colored monstrosity that it is, the thing doesn’t weigh much. Hank doesn’t know if that’s concerning, if plastics just weigh less than the average person or if one being inordinately light is problematic.  _ Fuck, can an android starve? How often does he need to feed it… and what? _ What if the thing really is underweight, Hank wouldn’t know. He doesn’t spend much time lifting plastics just to compare weights. Then again this one was pretty tiny anyways. 

There’s shifting in the box as Hank can’t avoid leaning the box to one side as he lifts it out of the car and sets it down on solid ground. The android had been freaking out in the dumpster before, he can’t imagine it’s much better in the smaller cardboard.

The curb is full of that disgusting grey snow, but Hank figures it doesn’t matter. It’s a level place to set the box down and get the android out. He’s not lugging the whole box into the house.

Popping the top off the box is no less of a jarring experience the second time around. Again he’s faced with those wide brown doe eyes looking up at him, his whole body pressed to one side of the box with the jostling. The android is squirming around, trussed up in the bow Reed’s tied around him. It’s too much like when Sumo was a puppy, big eyes and uncoordinated limbs and that low keening sound that could make even the coldest heart warm.

There are fancy buckles on this gag and Hank tries until he curses as his near frozen finger refuses to cooperate. It doesn’t matter, he can get it off inside and out of this damn wind.

The ribbon is significantly lower tech and it comes away without much trouble. Though it makes something in Hank’s stomach flutter at the image of unwrapping him like a present. The android is still trembling and once all the ribbon has been removed, he still makes no move to get up.

Hank heaves him upright, noticing the little twinge that seems to wrack his whole body. How long had he been in that position, did androids get cramps? He knew now they got cold, no matter how much this android had claimed otherwise. Speaking of which he should probably get the poor thing inside. He’s trying really hard not to think about what his neighbors would say if they saw him leading a guy half dressed in fetish gear into his home.

The kid seems to have some trouble walking, the stiff movements obviously causing some kind of distress in the android. It makes him walk slowly and breathe deeply in between his steps, but Hank’s able to use the trembling little machine into this house without much other fuss. Once they are inside Hank pulls off his jacket and throws it into one of the open chairs. He goes to turn back to the android, but the kid has disappeared. Hank has a very brief heartache and briefly considers that the whole thing was a hallucination before he realizes that the android has gone down to the floor. The kid is huddled into himself-rocking his hips side to side in little intervals...He’s obviously distracted…

His LED’s pink. Hank squints a little bit, but the shade is very different from the ‘dangerous’ red, but it’s not a color that he’s seen before. Either way it doesn’t seem to have the negative connotations of red, Hank will take the win where he can.

Sumo gives Hank a lazy nod, butting his head against his leg and giving the android a cursory sniff before turning himself right around and trotting into the bedroom. So much for a guard dog, but at least the dog’s getting the bed warm.

The android jumps a little as Sumo presses his cold wet nose to his bare skin, but other than that didn’t seem to have any reaction to the dog. Hank can’t help but be relieved.  _ He’s passed the Sumo test… _

Hank grabs a beer from the kitchen and sits down at the table, watching the android where he’s decided to sit on the floor by the door. The thing hasn’t come any further in or even tried to catch his attention. It’s like he’s just… waiting to be addressed. 

“Come on, let me get that thing off your face,” Hank says, and that gets the android’s attention.

The android comes, settling down on his knees in front of Hank, practically vibrating. Hank’s surprised that the gag can even hold back the torrent of words he can see practically bursting from the thing.

It takes a little bit of work, he’s sure there’s some easier way to do this, but what he’s ended up doing requires two hands and too much leverage to ever be called efficient. Luckily the machine doesn’t seem to mind Hank’s pressing, or forcing its head to rest on Hank’s inner thigh in an effort to make the process a little easier.

“There you go,” he speaks softly like he’s delivered a particularly good scratching to Sumo when the buckle finally comes undone. “Now, seeing as this is the second time we find ourselves in this position, I think it only fair to ask. You got a name android?”

When the straps go slack the android doesn’t spit out the gag, just lifts its head docilely, as if in offering. Hank grabs the base of the gag and the android extracts himself from it. Hank has to control his surprise as he realizes that this was more than a simple gag

HIs eyes are unfocused as they find Hank’s face, a faint blue tint coming to his cheeks as he works his jaw back and forth for a second before speaking.

“My name is Connor, I’m an android made by Cyberlife. How may I serve you?” The android speaks in a soft and earnest tone that’s only slightly undercut by the slight static bleeding into his voice. Hank can’t tell if it’s the pressure from the gag or something else. He can’t help but wonder if that’s a normal android thing too.

“Connor?” Hank repeats the name, testing it on his own tongue.

“You may change it if you find it unsatisfactory,” Connor lowers his eyes back to the floor, shoulders hitching just a fraction of an inch, unnoticeable to anybody who’s not looking for it.

“No, no it’s good. Perfect really.” Hank reassures him quickly.

Whatever anxiousness was holding him back before disappears with that.

“Lieutenant Hank, how may I serve you…” There’s an undeniable suggestion in his voice. The android is wiggling again on the floor, just the rocking of hips and Hank doesn’t need much of an imagination to know that Connor would be a fantastic lay.

“I don’t-” He tries to protest, but Connor cuts him off.

“Please, Sir,” The words are a ground out whimper as Connors teeth catch his lower lip, just showing off how supple and biteable the skin there is. It’s all much more suggestive than it should be and Hank can feel all his arguments against this falling apart.

“Woah there, I don’t… I’m not-” He doesn’t fuck plastics, hell he hasn’t fucked since his wife died.

But it’s funny. The alcohol that he'd needed to get through that god awful Christmas party is making it so much easier to agree. To see the perfect, alluring lips, and the android’s soft hair all askew and begging to be played with.

“Why did you take out my gag then,” Connor bats eyes innocently with the question, as if he doesn’t know that he’s drawing attention to those unnaturally long eyelashes. “I assure you I’m very skilled, you would not be left wanting.” Hank nearly chokes at the offer. How the hell is the little android able to say those kinds of things with such an innocent look on his face.

“Look I just felt uncomfortable leaving you with that thing in… ok? It looked uncomfortable and Reed’s an ass...” he finishes off lamely, as though that simple fact is the center of his whole worldview.

“I- well then would you help me with one other thing from detective Reed?” He bites his bottom lip again and it’s all Hank can do to try and pull his eyes away from the tempting sight.

God, he’s blushing. When’s the last time he fucking blushed? This android’s got him flustered like he’s a teenager.

“I... wha- Yeah, I guess-” Hank doesn’t even get through his stuttering before Connor turns himself around and presents his ass with a little wiggle.

“Please sir, I -it’s distracting,” The android whines in a breathy tone that goes straight to Hank’s dick.

_ Oh god _

He moves like he’s in some kind of a dream, detached, just an observer as his fingers find their way under the fabric of the android’s shorts. All he can hear for a moment is the pounding of his own pulse in his ears as he pulls down those tiny shorts to expose that perfect, pert little ass and reveal the base of the plug. Hank can’t help the way his fingers go to brush against it lightly. It’s almost like an uncontrollable reflex as he nudges the pliable red and white silicone. Connor jumps under the light touch, squirming, but unable to spread his legs wider with his shorts still bunched up around his thighs.

_ He does make for a pretty picture though _ , Hank can’t help but think as he watches the android try and make himself more accessible. 

“You need me to get this out of you” Hank speaks, his throat dry as he allows himself to tap on the base of the plug.

Connor lets out a nearly pornographic groan as he slips bonelessly so that his chest is on the floor and his back arched presenting his ass just a little more explicitly.

“Please, Sir.” The pleading, breathy tone nearly sends Hank over the edge right there.

But he takes a few seconds, gets himself back under control before he can place a steadying hand on Connor’s hips. Hank’s taken aback by how smooth and warm the skin feels.  _ So close to human _ . Connor just leans into the touch making a noise in the back of his throat that is so full of desire that it pulls all coherent thought out of the lieutenant. 

Hank braces his other hand against the android’s hips trying to steady the Connor’s movements as he starts pulling out the plug. The lube slick silicone reveals itself one glorious inch at a time while Connor starts making this high pitched little mewling noise that Hank can’t just ignore. The reactions are so human, so organic, Hank can’t control himself and before he’s thought about it his hand has pressed the plug back into Connor’s body.

And Connor just takes it- moaning, panting, and pressing his flushed cheek to the cool tile underneath him as the toy sinks back into him just as slowly as he’d been removing it.

Hank takes his time, entranced by this whole process sliding the plug in and out, listening to the wonderful little noises that Connor makes. Enthralled by the thought that his actions are causing those delicious little noises to come from the android. Hank watches as he slowly, methodically works Connor up. Works the android into a glorious state where all he can do is babble incoherent little noises as the rest of his body trembles at the pleasure of the sensations Hank is causing. It’s intoxicating.

He doesn’t know if the android is actually feeling anything, but if he isn’t it’s an impressive amount of parroting. The pink’s still cycling in his LED but his eyes are gone, wherever the sensations that Hank is causing have taken him, it certainly isn’t here. 

Connor’s hard and it isn’t until then that Hank realizes that he’s absolutely rigid in his pants.

Connor’s rim’s flushed just slightly with all the activity, and glistening with lubricant. The plug comes free with a slick pop and Connor makes an adorable sound at the loss of the silicone inside of him, shuffling his hips back a tiny bit seeking the stimulation again. But that's alright, Hank’s not planning to leave Connor empty for long.

There’s no resistance as Hank presses into Connor, the tight, slick heat yielding immediately to the slightest insistence. Connor makes a little choking noise as Hank presses in, his fingers scraping weakly, uselessly at the tile floor in his momentary confusion. Connor’s whining has Hank pause, his hand still holding the android firmly in place by the hip. The small, broken noise continues, but with a little more urgency now that there is no movement and Hank’s worry at Connor’s whining disappears as he realizes that the android is struggling to throw his legs open wider. welcoming the change of pace a little too enthusiastically.

“Hey, hey,” Hank pats at Connor’s hip like he’s soothing a skittish horse “you’re doing good, halfway there.”

The confused, almost distressed little moan reminds him to go slow and not just slam into him like he wants to. In the end it’s not even up to him, Connor throws his hips back just as Hank is easing him through the last few inches and Hank takes a moment to appreciate having bottomed out into a very fine ass. He stills, wanting to give the android a few moments to adjust, but before he has the chance Connor’s working himself on Hank’s cock.

Hank nearly chuckles at the mindless eager behavior, as Connor impales himself. Hank admires the view for a moment as the android struggles to keep up with himself, thighs trembling as he works himself backwards chasing what must be an incredibly pleasurable experience.

Hank curls his hands around Connor’s hips, not stopping the motions, but calming their fevered desperation. Not that Connor’s pace is anything other than satisfactory to the lieutenant, but a bit more of the rhythm won’t be hurting anybody.  _ Connor seems to like it _ , Hank watches Connor’s cheeks go a flushed blue, and when Hank tries a new angle the android’s whole body shutters, his eyes rolling back as he bites out a sharp cry of pleasure. 

Intrigued, Hank thrusts over the same spot, the incoherent noises seeming to translate into a continuous litany of  _ please. _

_ Who knew they built androids with prostates… _

The thought amuses Hank as he chases the heat that’s pooling low in his belly. The mounting pleasure, an intense distraction. His grip on Connor’s hips keeping him in place as Hank continued to pound into him. 

Connor cums first, the android crying out as his cock shoots out a little more of that clear lubricant that his body seems to produce on command while his insides spasm with the forcefulness of his orgasm. It’s not surprising, with all that Hank’s been toying with him, it’s a wonder Connor didn’t cum sooner, but what does take Hank by surprise is his own orgasm. The delicious clench of Connor’s insides practically wringing the orgasm out of Hank before he had the chance to prepare himself.

For a blessed moment there is no other sound in the house aside from their panting as they lay beside each other on the kitchen floor.

Connor’s LED flashes a couple of cycles of pink before it fades back into the peaceful blue. Connor just smiles weakly as he looks up at Hank, post orgasmic bliss written clearly on his face before his eyes widen and he scrambles onto his knees.

The LED is cycling yellow now as Connor runs a trembling hand through his hair.

“I’m so sorry, I -the program- “ his voice goes staticy with something that Hank can only interpret as fear.

“Connor, you don’t have to-” Hank tries to speak as he sits up, confused at the sudden shift in the android, but Connor cuts him off. 

“I’ll clean this up right away, Sir. I’m sorry,” Connor’s eyes flash to the mess they've made in the kitchen, fingers twitching like they need something to do.

There’s an immediate headache brewing behind Hank’s eyes. This is the skittish thing that he remembers from the crime scene. This is the android that had so captured his attention. The one that acts so irrationally, outside of it’s coding. So what was making him act so wanton before?

Why had Hank been so ready to jump to sex with the plastic?

He’s always enjoyed the pleasure of his partner, he’s enjoyed being a thorough lover. And truth be told it’s been a while…

Guilt starts eating at Hank, just another john to please before the night’s up, his conscious mocks him.  _ Not any better than anyone else who paid for the boy’s time _ , had he even explained what was happening? Did the android even know that he had a new owner? Fuck,  _ Owner _ , Hank’s never been so disgusted with a concept.

Whatever had been turning the android on was most definitely off and now Hank’s left with just the roiling distaste for himself. It’s made worse tenfold as Connor comes back into his field of view falling to his knees, scrubbing the cum and lube off the kitchen floor, some of which is still leaking from his ass. The damn android is still babbling out apologies. Whatever was making him so shameless has apparently completely deserted him.

“Connor, don’t-” Hank tries to quiet the android, but Connor keeps barreling along.

“I can’t apologize enough. I had hoped to make a good impression I didn’t mean to be so mindless when I first came into your home, there is no excuse for my actions-” Connor rambles, making no goddamn sense

“Connor, would you stop-” Hank tries again, the headache pounding to a new degree.

“I just-” Connor continues but this time Hank cuts him off.

“Jesus, androids would you shut the fuck up!” He roars 

He can’t even look at him right now. Why did he even accept an android. He never wanted to keep one, he never wanted to have to deal with one for any extended period. He’d be better off anywhere but with you.

His hand wrapped easily around the slight build of the android’s arm and just as light as the box had been, the android is as easy to move. It’s only once he starts leading the android throughout the house that the android even tries to struggle.

Connor fights as he’s dragged through the house. The android kicks and screams, but all his begging falls on deaf ears as Hank just continues to pull him along.

Hank opens the backdoor and throws the android out, shutting the door before he even sees him land. Once the loud crack of the door slamming closed reverberates, the house quiet. Everything eerily still and it grates on Hank’s nerves.

He storms to the other side and throws open the door to his bathroom and starts up the shower. The hot water pounds down on his body, burning his skin, but at the very least it forces him to remain in the moment. Anything to drive out his thoughts, the memories of tonight and everything else that wants to try and haunt him. He stays under the spray for an ungodly amount of time, but when he finally pulls himself from the shower his skin is bright red and he can’t think.

In the bedroom Sumo’s blearily opens an eye for a second, but otherwise ignores Hank’s entry.

There’s a scattering of bottles around the room, a few mugs with the dried out remains of coffee long passed. Hank pours alcohol into a mug drinking until he’s not choking on the burn. Until his mind is pleasantly numb and he can pretend he’s not thinking about that little doe eyed android he’s just kicked to the curb

With any luck, he would take the hint and run like the other two Traci models.

With any luck he wouldn’t be there when Hank woke up.


	4. The Dog House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is stuck outside and even though he doesn't know why his new owner is punishing him, he has to try to be good. And hopefully he'll be allowed inside before he freezes.  
> (Hope you like Angst)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh jeez, I did not mean for it to take this long to publish a new chapter of this. I am so sorry guys. The good news is that the next chapter is blocked out, so there will be a much shorter wait for the next one.

Connor wasn’t going to be there when Hank woke up. 

The thought struck him with unnatural clarity as he pulled his shaking limbs closer to his body. The door frame didn’t protect him from the harsh wind or the cold weather. Still, Connor waited on his knees at the door of the back porch as though this was all one big misunderstanding. As though Hank would come back any second now, open the door, and allow the android back into his home.

_ How had he fucked up so bad? _

Perhaps he should have just been quiet. Some strangeld sound, too deranged to be called a laugh makes its way into Connor’s throat at the thought. Oh course that was the answer, wasn’t it? He only needed to be quiet for his owner and then he would be good. It was the one thing he could never truly grasp, no matter how many times they’d messed around with his coding.

It had to be some kind of bug. No matter what when he was scared he always managed to talk, ramble, or generally annoy the people around him with the sound of his vocal processor. He needed the gag his last owner had provided. No matter how scared it made him feel, no matter the bad memories it forced him to replay, he needed it to be good. To be a good little android and maybe, finally be kept somewhere for longer than it took his novelty to wear off.

He hadn’t been in his right mind when he came to his new owner, but Hank hadn’t seemed to mind in the moment. He was at the mercy of the programing and it seemed there was no mercy to be had. 

Connor flushes as he recalls the sensations that he’d experienced. The uncontrollable uproar of the lust, the endless, pitiless way it had taken over his body. It had kept him up all night, demanding the program sought its satisfaction, but when Connor could do nothing to satiate the program… Connor remembers the mindless agony of being unable to find his completion, to find relief, and without even the distracting stimuli of the outside world his mind had retreated into a space he could barely recognize. In that fugue state he hadn’t been able or conscious of his internal clock, hadn’t been conscious of anything until Reed had literally slapped some sense into him. 

Hank had been kind, considerate even, taking time and effort for Connor to enjoy himself.  _ Had the kind lieutenant enjoyed himself? _ Connor’s sensors had been so screwed at the time that most of the memory file was corrupted. Just sensations, no hard facts. 

Physically, he had enjoyed the activities very much, his body was still just the slightest bit oversensitive and Hank had too if the evidence running down his thighs were any indicator. But there was nothing in his memory bank to define exactly how and why that had happened. Or to indicate why Hank had been so angry with him after they finished.

It’s freezing outside, well below actually, as his sensors oh so helpfully indicate. The snow is coming down in gray fat globs and clinging to his hair and skin. He’s shaking violently before he’s even been outside a full minute.

Connor understands the value of this kind of punishment, the way it’s supposed to work at least. He’s been bad, so he isn’t allowed inside the house. He’ll be allowed back in when his owner thinks he’s earned the right, but for now that doesn’t quell the steadily rising fear. This kind of punishment is rarely short lived. 

This kind of punishment wouldn’t be very discouraging if it only lasted a few minutes and yet as each second ticks by Connor’s Thirium pump feels like it gains a new speed. Punishment like this is at the very least hours at a time, sometimes even overnight, but Connor doesn’t think he has that kind of time. 

He’s not like the heartier models, the working androids that are made specifically to never need maintenance unless they’ve been vandalized, or never need to charge unless the little nuclear batteries within them run out. Connor is a pleasure model. That means a sleek design with a relatively pitiful battery capacity and skin that is thin and pliable enough to be pleasurable. Skin that provides no protection from weather this cold.

He knows that he should just take it. In theory, it is better that way. If he simply takes this punishment. Then there is nothing left to do but hope that his new owner will come for him before long. If he’s quiet and accepts this docilely then perhaps Hank will calm himself and retrieve his gift before too much damage can be done to his systems. He should be quiet and wait, it’s the logical thing, the course that is statistically marked for success, he knows that and yet…

He can’t stop himself. The freezing cold has worked its way into his hands, his feet. He can feel the numbness working its way into his body. Even as he tries to convince himself that the best course of action is to stay quiet he can’t stop himself from returning to the pitiful begging.

His voice trembles and he pulls himself against the door begging once more to come inside. The yelling hadn’t worked, but that was probably his own fault. Too much of a demand for property. 

_ Too much emotion. _

When he made requests he had to be yielding. A machine simply suggesting the correct course of action from the perspective of its computing AI.

“P-please let me inside. I… I promise I’ll be good, I promise…” he pleads, begging turning to a whisper as he tries to force out the words.

There’s no response from behind the door. Not even an angry shout from a master that doesn’t want to be disturbed.

There’s fear churning in his gut and seconds dragged on into minutes and his whole body starts shaking in a way that has nothing to do with the cold. He’s probably disturbing the Master, putting on a great show of why he shouldn’t be allowed back into the house just yet. He may have even earned himself a few more hours outside…

Connor turns his head away from the door and instead takes a quick look around the backyard.

There’s a slightly decrepit fence that goes around the property. At least he isn’t exposed to the neighbors. Connor feels his cheeks alight at that idea, the thought that they would see him outside entirely naked, kneeling at the doorstep begging to be let in with cum dripping down his legs.

There’s some trash bags waiting to be picked up by the fence, an abandoned tire, a tiny box-like structure with peeling paint coating the wood. There isn’t much in the backyard, though there might be something else buried under the snow already covering a good portion of the backyard. His new owner probably doesn’t spend much time back here, he notes uselessly.

There’s something cold that settles in Connor’s chest, something that has nothing to do with the external temperature this time. The android looks at the worn wooden door, the tarnished metal knob, and the high, covered window that make up the gate to this prison. Nothing seems to be particularly well groomed in the backyard, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s been thrown out like so much trash. Hank will come back for him, surely. He wouldn’t leave the android to freeze to deactivation outside, right?

There’s nowhere he can go as an unaccompanied android. His power is too low to survive a night keeping his internal temperature at a safe level and he has no clothes.

“Lieutenant Anderson-” Connor’s voice cracks as he realizes there’s nothing he can offer. What could he say that would make the lieutenant change his mind? What could he realistically do?

He has to trust his new owner, he has to have faith. Even still, that’s easier said that done as Connor starts to wrack his processor for anything that might prove helpful. He doesn’t even remember what the man had liked about him. What in their very breif interaction had made him put aside his disgust for Connor to the point that he’d fuck him

“-please.” His voice cracks and he wishes he could blame it on the cold. He wishes he could blame it on a malfunction in his voice synthesizer- but it’s fear.

Acknowledging it makes it do much worse and all those feelings return until he’s drowning in them

He makes to try pounding on the door again, but all he can do is set his head against the door and try to breath through the rapidly rising stress meter in the corner of his vision.

Hank isn’t coming back. Connor had fucked up and now Hank didn’t want his little gift anymore. He’d freeze to deactivation out here without a power source and some form of shelter. His uniform had never done much to keep out the cold, but it was leaps and bounds better than nothing.

The prudetry settings that he displayed had endlessly confused his old owner, especially when they kicked in several months into his use. 

It didn’t matter how often he repeated to himself that he was simply a machine. That his nakedness shouldn’t disturb him, especially since it is one of the primary purposes of his programming. He’d found comfort in concealing clothing, to the endless amusement of his regulars. Some found the setting endearing and cute while others had been annoyed by it.

_ Which was Hank? _ He hid what he was for nearly three months by memorizing preferences and doing his best to push everything but orders aside. He needed more data if he was going to survive here.

_ If Hank ever let him inside again. _

A night outside was looking more and more probable as Hank still did not appear and throw open the door after the long waiting period that Connor had given him. Connor shivered, watching his internal temperature tick steadily downward until it dipped uncomfortably low in the yellow zone. He wanted to earn forgiveness from his owner, not destroy valuable parts that his new owner might not see fit to replace.

_ Outside for the night, then. _

His eyes briefly flashed to the latched gate in the fence that opened to the front yard. There was no lock. He could easily open the gate and try to gain entrance from the front. SUrely his pleas would come through clearer from the front of the house. Where Hank was, he might not even be hearing the android…

He dismissed the idea almost as soon as he’d come up with it.

No, Hank had banished him to the backyard. He wouldn’t get anywhere with the man if he just ignored his wishes so flagrantly. His punishment was determined, if he was to prove himself to be good then he needed to suffer through the punishment like Hank had intended.

He had to stay in the backyard, but he also needed to keep himself from shutting down and likely causing some very expensive, very difficult to repair, damage to himself. He needed to find some shelter from the wind and the snow.

The box in the corner of the yard suddenly took on new interest to the android. It was the only semi stable structure in the area, so it was either that or try to shelter behind a set of shipping boxes that had been unfolded into little pallets. Oddly enough the little cardboard pallets are tempting. The little box is too close of a facsimile of the dumpster his old master used to use for punishment. Connor almost brushes past the idea of using it entirely because of that, but there’s no way he can make a stable structure with the half soaked cardboard pallets. Nothing that will stop the wind anyways.

Connor promised that he'd rethink the plan if there is any old Thirium on the inside of the box. If there’s any evidence that his new owner seems to enjoy using this isolation, or if it’s more likely to come in combination with a more traditional beating. His masters always seemed to be under the impression that when the substance dried it became clear, but the android never had a problem seeing the dried remains of the blue blood.

Upon closer inspection, Connor realizes that the Box is not a specified place for him to wait out his punishment. In fact, given the chipped paint that spells out ‘Sumo’, Connor’s willing to guess that this is a doghouse for the large St. Bernard he’d seen earlier. There’s a red cracked plastic dish probably for water outside, but there’s no evidence that it’s been used for a while. Hank probably doesn’t want his dog suffering from the cold of the winter.

Connor tries not to let himself feel too bitter or jealous of the canine. It isn’t productive to remind himself that he’s lower than the dog in terms of Hank’s concerns. Nor does it in any way improve his situation to wonder what the dog has to do to be considered good enough to be allowed in the house on cold nights like this.

Connor squeezed himself inside the small structure. He supposes that he should be grateful that Hank had a big dog and not some tiny chihuahua. Otherwise, there is no way he would have been no way for Connor to fit in the structure.

Even still, it’s a tight fit. There’s no room to stretch out his legs, but thankfully there is enough room to shift around. The whole box reeks of dog but there’s a twice folded rough blanket serving as a cushion on the floor. Connor makes short work of that, pulling it around himself as he tries to stave off the cold. 

He’s at 27 percent, but that should be enough. It will have to be. If he goes into power saving mode it should, but then there is the risk that the exposure would get him. It’s not like he has much of a choice.

Lays down as tightly as he can the blanket’s scratchy and Sumo’s shed hair bristles against his skin

He just has to survive until morning.  _ In the morning it will all be better _ . Hank will have had time to cool down and Connor will be able to figure out what he did wrong. He’ll apologize, he’ll make sure it never happens again if the man would just keep him.

He has plenty of uses in the house aside from his designated use. The house isn’t in the best shape and surely the man wouldn’t turn down the free help of someone who could tidy up and cook for him when he was away at work. It’s not something Connor ever thought he’d be doing, but it isn't impossible. There are thousands of free supplemental housekeeping software updates and mods if the basic programming isn’t acceptable. He just has to ensure that he has worth

It’s the same as his last owner, find the reason people like you, make sure that enough do to make you worth their while

He just needs to survive until morning.

Then everything would be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Angst with a happy ending.
> 
> I swear the next chapter won't take 40 years :P


End file.
